Chapter Twenty-Eight
Without a word, Ben climbed onto the bed and straddled me, his knees pressed against the outside of my thighs. My heart went
slow and clumsy, like it was trying to move molasses through my veins. He held my gaze before lowering his head to brush his
lips against mine, tentatively, like he was worried we were making a mistake.
Which we probably were, and neither of us cared.
The moment our lips touched I linked my hands behind his neck, so he’d understand that the Blizzard Clause was nonnegotiable.
We no longer had guardrails. Ben deepened the kiss like he’d just realized it as well, and I shivered in response.
We kissed like we’d rehearsed it, as if we’d spent the past four years nurturing what we’d started in Switzerland. I wondered
if it would be strange for me to wriggle out of my sweatshirt immediately, because I was that desperate to feel his skin on
mine.
Ben slid his hands under my sweatshirt and the T-shirt beneath it like he could read my mind. My body went hot, his touch
a downed power line sparking along my skin.
He broke off the kiss to whisper in my ear. “Has it been obvious that not kissing you has been torture for me?”
I smiled as he pressed his lips along the side of my neck, my cheeks, my eyelids, like he needed to claim every bit of me.
“You were extremely professional,” I managed as his hand traveled higher beneath my sweatshirt, smoothing along the lower
side of my bra. My breath hitched as he moved his hand to palm my breast over the thin fabric.
Had I packed the sexiest black one I owned, envisioning this very scenario? Not consciously, but my subconscious clearly knew
what was up.
So much of my life was spent trying to get or stay warm, but now here I was fighting to cool off, because Ben had me boiling.
I pushed against him, trying to give him more access to my body, but it was no use. I arched my back and he jumped away from
me, a horrified look on his face.
“I’m sorry! Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?”
Instead of answering him I sat up and pulled my sweatshirt over my head, leaving me just in my bra.
The mix of relief and awe on his face almost made me laugh out loud.
“Oh damn,” he murmured. “You are . . . perfect.”
He slid his hand behind my neck and gently drew me back to him, and then we were melting into one another again. It felt desperate
and a little unhinged, and I loved it. Ben dropped his hands to my waist to shift my body and I followed his lead like I was
his dance partner, moving until I was on top of him.
Like he wanted me to be in control.
I welcomed it, because I was not feeling tentative about what was happening. I wound up straddling him in just my bra and sweats, which still felt like too
much clothing. I wordlessly reached behind me and released my bra clasp in a single motion, then slid it off.
“Oh, fuck, Quinn.”
Ben sounded awestruck, but rather than let him admire me I lowered myself so that I was laying on top of him. Being scrutinized
by the world in a barely there skating costume was a day at the office, but letting go in this kind of context was still new
for me.
He slid his hands across my naked back then squeezed me, a reassurance that we were exactly where we were supposed to be.
I nestled my cheek against the side of his neck as he held me close and breathed him in.
Yes, I desperately wanted to strip off all my clothes and his, but the embrace felt like us binding ourselves together, wordlessly conveying that beneath all the heat of the moment,
we shared a tether.
In Ben’s arms, I felt safe in a way I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced.
Then his lips were back on mine, and I was starving for him. All of him. I slid my hand down between our bodies to the waistband
of his track pants—thank god for elastic—then his briefs, and wrapped my fingers around his hardness.
I paused at his rough exhale, still gripping him tightly.
“Quinn.”
He was paralyzed for a few seconds as I stroked him, until I felt his hand gliding down my stomach and beneath my sweatpants.
Then it was my turn to go breathless for a few seconds.
Ben’s fingertips explored between my thighs, gently teasing me until I found myself greedily pushing against his hand, trying
to tell him that there was no reason to be tentative. It was desperate, but honest. I needed him.
We moved in tandem, kissing feverishly between the moments Ben broke off to nibble and lick his way down my neck to my breasts. When his mouth found my nipple I gasped. When his tongue swept across it I heard a desperate little noise that I realized was coming from me.
I felt the sweet pressure building as Ben reached down and stroked me in smaller and smaller circles, like he was pairing
his touch to my reactions. But it didn’t matter what he did because every sensation left me a little dizzy and fighting to
fill my lungs. I was starving for him even though he was closer than he’d ever been.
I could barely focus on what I was doing to him as Ben teased me closer to the edge, but I still gripped his cock. I wanted
to make him feel as good as he was making me feel, but his fingertips made it almost impossible for me to do anything but
wait for my inevitable peak and crash landing.
My lack of focused effort didn’t seem to bother him at all. His quiet, strained noises made it sound like he was holding himself
back from coming even though it was probably the most half-hearted hand job I’d ever given.
Then I had a flashback that made me pause. The last time we were together he’d focused on my pleasure like it was enough for
him.
Not this time.
I kissed my way closer to his ear, getting more satisfied little noises from him. “You better have a condom.”
He froze, his warm hand still cupped against me. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, that’s the idea.” I laughed softly and dropped my forehead to his shoulder.
“No, I’m not sure . . .” he rasped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
It felt impossible that Bennett Martino would travel without a case of condoms, but then again, I was starting to understand
that I’d misjudged him in so many ways.
He untangled from me, trying to wrench up his track pants despite the massive hard-on. I watched him shuffle to the stack of equipment on his desk and unzip the front pocket of his backpack. I held my breath until he pulled out a worn gold foil package.
“Do they expire?” he asked as he turned it over in his hands.
“I paid attention in health class. Five-year shelf life,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, fuck yes,” he sighed as he ripped it open.
He pulled his T-shirt over his head then slid his pants off, giving me a front-row seat to exactly why he looked so good in
his skintight speed suit. The uniform didn’t leave much to the imagination—I already knew about his incredible ass—but now
I was treated to all of the body hidden beneath it. The legs, the legs, the legs . . . he was a perfectly toned specimen from top to bottom, but
I couldn’t stop staring at his granite thighs with the deep cut up the middle.
Then he was back on the bed, poised above me.
I raised up to kiss him as he bumped his way between my thighs, and then he pushed deep inside.
A pause to savor what we’d both been waiting for, a kiss to seal our amended agreement, and then we were moving together in
rhythm. Ben didn’t miss a beat as he reached over to grab a pillow and slip it beneath my hips. I’d been close to the edge
before but the new angle and sweet pressure of Ben slipping in and out left me feeling feverish.
He bent down over my body to whisper in my ear. “How did I get so fucking lucky?”
I was too dizzy to reply, too close, too happy, too sweaty. And then when he reached down between my legs to make those sweet
little circles again?
I shouted his name as I came.
The rush was almost too much. I clung to Ben during the aftershocks, and could feel his muscles straining as he started moving
faster.
Then, a pause and shudder as he collapsed on top of me.
“Quinn . . .” he rasped against my neck between kisses. “I love doing contract renegotiations with you.”
I giggled and squirmed as he hit the ticklish spot behind my ear.
Ben rolled off me, still breathing heavily. He kept his hand on my stomach, like he was trying to remind himself that I was
still there as he found his way back to earth.
He rolled his head to look at me. “Sleep here.”
I nodded. “But tomorrow . . .”
“I know what I agreed to,” he said quickly.
We got out of bed reluctantly to clean up and found our way back to bed, and to each other. He slid under the covers in boxers
and a T-shirt, while I was back in my protective hoodie and sweats.
Ben reached over to smooth my hair behind my ear, and I reflexively closed my eyes and leaned into his touch.
“You must be exhausted. Incredibly long day,” he said. “C’mere.”
I scooted closer to him and slotted in against his body.
“Big spoon,” I murmured as I drifted off into the best sleep of my life.